Clock work
by otpbabyformula2
Summary: A (possible) multi-chapter fic in which we see Rick and Michonne navigate in a new territory of confidence, all the whilst being separated and dealing with their own insecurities and trying to be strong for the other.
1. Chapter 1

She had waited.

Although clocks no longer ticked in the background like an unconscious thought, Michonne was aware of every second, minute and hour that passed; down to the few spaces between seconds that do not have names but instead can be identified by the small hiccups of breath a person takes when they are anxious.

Her foot tapped impatiently as she looked over the wall, willing her eyes to look deeper into the shadows the night created. She was hoping – praying – to identify anything other than a shuffling of feet followed by the shallow groans of a walker.

Instead, she wanted the stride of a confident, yet alert, bow legged male to find his way through the shadows and appear at the gates. Realistically, he may be battered and bruised but that would be okay, at least his appearance would stop the hammering in her heart, that hurt, where it felt as though after every beat, small fractures in her rib cages were being produced.

Looking back towards the house they shared, where the lights were all off and Carl and Judith were probably sleeping peacefully, despite all the things that they had processed (or had repressed in fact), hurt her.

It was simple to understand why.

He - Rick – had never been back so late from the run.

This territory of the unknown scared Michonne, down to the core, where the bodies old and instinctual ways kick in and fight or flight becomes second nature for every second of the day.  
The confidence to roam freely had been stripped away from them and it had bought Michonne to her knees. She remembered the conversations they had before he left.

"It isn't safe to do it alone." Michonne had said, looking up at him and seeing how the worry lines had deepened.

"We're the ones who live, I've said it before." His voice was soft and his hands wrapped around her waist, the grip tightening as he finished his sentence.

She had held back a grimace when he said that, for something hadn't sat right in her chest when he rehearsed these words, not like they had before. There were two enemies now and they could barely escape one without having help.

"I don't want you alone out there." Michonne tried again, trying not to be too direct, trying not to stunt his confidence within himself at such a delicate time.

"We need this, you know that and everyone... everyone is busy doing their own thing. And someone needs to do it, that can be you or me and right now, with the way things are... I'd rather it be me." His eyes become slightly wetter then, making them sparkle like the sun on the ocean floor.

Michonne sighed and thought back to their conversation in the caravan when they had gotten away long enough for Rick to keep pressing the matter of not going back for a few more days.

Nothing left her lips as she pressed herself against his chest and looked out of the window beside them, where the sun had shone high and made it seem as though everything below it was peaceful and happy.

At this moment in time, she wanted to kick herself. But she knew, she knew in this heat that they were in, it was dangerous to leave Judith and Carl alone again. Michonne had been aware, without even being told, that this was the reason she was still here and not there with him – wherever there was. The maternal instinct had kept her here, foot rooted between the wall and the house, looking to and fro to make sure that he came home, to not leave them and to maintain the dynamic that not only kept the family alive, but the group.

Rick was five days overdue and since the first night Michonne was unable to sleep. She had clung to the side of the covers that covered his body every time they slept together, smelling it and hoping that it would soften the clenched feeling in her throat.  
When that didn't work, she paced to and fro in the living room, trying to distract herself by coming up with new ways to scavenge and to prep the Alexandrians that they had left. But when her eyes began to close, her mind was filled with thoughts, all negative, and she didn't know where it had come from.

Admittedly, although she never showed it, there were times where her confidence lapsed and it was unfortunate that it occurred at such a time. And it hit her low and dirty, making others have to say her name twice to get her attention, making her draw her katana slower in teaching lessons concerning the Alexandrians, taking a few seconds longer to respond to Judith's cues. She felt herself slow down without her other half by her side.

Suddenly her body jolted and she steadied herself, looking around her quickly and tentatively. The sun was rising above the horizon, the shallow sleep giving her enough energy to get down from the wall and hang her shoulders low.

Michonne wss remembering the way that Rick had tasted on their final kiss, how tight his body had felt when she had thought he had died at the fair and jumped to wrap herself around and how his hands always wandered on the nights of days that they had skimmed by near death experiences.

The near death experiences always scared her. They always did.

Was that going to happen again?

It was tiring her, all this thinking. The urge to run back to the wall and search for his blue eyes and blue shirt in the distance required so much energy to fight against, walking back home in the quiet Alexandrian streets alone stole pieces of her spirit.

And all she wanted, as wind picked up and as the clouds reformed and as the sun started to deceive the world with being a bright place, was for Rick Grimes to appear at the gates, battered and bruised like he always was, looking like he was made of something more than his constituent parts.


	2. Rick

*Popping into say I thought I would simmer the angst of Rick's disappearance a little. But if I'm honest, I love writing Michonne the most. She's so lovely - though so is Rick!*

P.S. I think the next chapter may be the final chapter :) Thank you for reading and for all the kind comments. I'm sorry it took me two months to update, it will NEVER EVER EVER happen again.

* * *

Rick's heartbeat matched the rising and the falling of the wind through the leaves in the tree that he had been resting in for days. Days that he had watched passed by, that made his stomach churn. Not from hunger, but from the longing to be back where he felt somewhat comfortable – not safe, he thought, that would be the wrong word. Where the familiar scent of Michonne rocked his aching nightmares into soft dreams that made it bearable to place one foot in front of the other the following morning.

 _It had started out well, the mission_ , Rick recalled. His stealth had prevented him from swarms of zombies and had meant he got to his destination – a far off cabin he could have sworn they had never seen before – in a day or so.  
He had hoped it would present him with the things he wanted; with guns being the highest priority.

However, as soon as he had entered, he realized that it was inhabited. Glasses filled with unevaporated droplets of liquid were placed on the living room table, a bedroom had crinkled covers sprawled at the bottom of the bed.  
Mid-search, Rick found his ears perking at the sound of boots hitting the floorboards of the single floored cabin and his heart began to stutter in his chest.

Rick had found himself pressed between the floorboards and the frame of the bed, scared that the hammering of his heart would knock on the wood and allow his wearabouts to be known to the complete strangers.  
He almost wanted to smile to himself, because he recalled that this was the second time he had been in such a compromising position. Just like the first time, he watched the door and held his breath, attempting to slow his heart rate down so the throbbing of his heartbeat in his ears would simmer down.

Right now, however, Rick was climbing down from a tree. His chest pressed only to the harsh bark, that scratched his chest through his clothing.  
He thought about how he would explain the rest of his extended trip to Michonne.  
'"There were two of Negan's men in the cabin. I took their guns, I took their knives, I took their lives and barely escaped with mine. I got a little lost. More men had come looking for 'em and walking around, so I had to hide out to be sure.'"  
He'd throw in a smile, the bright one that she liked best and that made her smile back amid anything and everything.  
 _That smile_ , Rick missed it. The way it greeted him in the morning and followed every time their lips parted. How sometimes, it was a giveaway to the softest laugh he was ever going to hear arriving again and flying from her lips.

If Rick had known that this trip would take more than two days, he probably wouldn't have gone. Although, it wasn't as though he came up short. Everyone weapon meant more hope, hope that he could give in a physical form and watch Michonne's chest rise higher and her back straighten just a little more than the day before.

There were ways in which he wanted to make her back curve against him, he thought, as he walked through the environment that dusk had created. Soft oranges surrounded every tree and the hint of darkness in the sky reminded him of the skin he hadn't kissed in days. In 5 days.

She had wanted to come with him. He had wanted her too. The longing towards each other meant that even a days separation made them weary, frightened and... less of themselves - _that wasn't the correct description, less of each other, which made them who they were now_. It made them aware of the air between them, that tingled with an electric current that only they could feel in each other's presence.

The memory of her pressed against his chest and the slight hum in the air he felt when they were silent and swaying to the sound of their synced heartbeats before he left, made his fingers flinch instinctively to where her head always landed in an embrace.  
He wanted to taste her. Every different hue that her body held, he wanted to kiss it. Her fingertips, behind her ears, her collar bone.  
It was bound to be a lonely trip in the first place. But having to watch the nights passed without the warmth of Michonne had frozen his bones in place and made the warming of them in the morning even harder.

Most of all, Rick wanted to tell her that he was alright. He could envision her now, worried, the slight downturn of the corner of her mouth as she walked to and fro in their house. The less than sharp attentiveness as she rocked and fed Judith, or listened to Carl's problems or taught the Alexandrian's something new. How she would peer over the wall and wait and wait until the idea of coming to find him was encouraged and made into a legitimate plan. But he was confident, that even if that were the case, she wouldn't go through with it. She may send out someone else or nobody at all, thinking about Judith and Carl in the process.

Oh, how all their names filled his heart. Threatened to burst it like a needle to a filled balloon.  
Rick had seen a road not far from here whilst he had been up in the tree, that he hoped led him back to his home. But still, he cursed silently, it would be too difficult to navigate the whole way home in the dark that would soon envelope him and strip him of his sight. He may even get lost again.

This wasn't how it was meant to be. Putting one foot in front of the other was harder than it had been in a long time. He guessed that his heart was heavier, filled with more love than it had been for a long time and that the distance and time – no matter how short it was – had filled it with heavy, heavy stones too.

He was tired and bruised out here.  
The distant moans of walkers and shuffling feet making the adrenaline rise in the pit of his stomach and spread to his extremities.

Before Michonne, Rick hadn't believed in soul mates. Even sitting beside Lori, he would scoff at the romance movies that ended with lovers who had been separated by all of life's possible games ending up together. But now, now he hoped it was true. To be honest, he needed it to be true.  
Because he knew the little falter in her confidence upon his lack of return, the slowing down of her actions and her thoughts, would be devastating in a scenario if he wasn't there.

And so, Rick Grimes walked until his eyelids almost resisted the conscious urge to stay open and the lack of moonlight had almost completed blinded him. And he dragged himself up a tree in the least nosiest and laziest manner.

And recited in mumbles before falling asleep, "Michonne, Michonne, Mich-…."

When the wind picked up to carry her name.


	3. The end

7 days.

A week.

Michonne turned slowly, sighing as she looked at the empty space beside her for the seventh morning in a row. She wished she hadn't kept track of the days, because each tally strike added on made her scared… unsure. She recalled a fact she had learnt in the previous world, where if an individual was missing for more than 24 hours, then their chance of survival was nil.

Could that be applied in this world?

Michonne felt silly. _Of course, it couldn't_. There were times when she had been gone a handful of sunrises and sunsets without returning home and she had survived.

A bent arm rested across her forehead as she faced the ceiling. It was painted white. The only part of the room that didn't have a splash of colour added to it.  
She envied it. The clean slate that it signified, synonymous with no emotion and an untold story.

Michonne no longer felt she wanted her story if it involved what nagged at her mind whenever her body almost fell from exhaustion at the wall, as exhaustion hit and dawn blinded her with a dazzling sun that lied and lied about how good the world was.

At this point, she wish she were numb, so that her exterior didn't change and allow people to know that she was struggling. The way the Alexandrian's looked at her, the way questions seemed to find her that she was well aware would have found Rick if he was here. She was the new leader.

But her mind couldn't take the responsibility, not now.

They had spoken about it before, in hushed whispers in the middle of the night after their chests had fallen back into a rhythmic pattern after rough love making.  
With sore lips – from the biting and the gnashing of teeth in heated passion – Rick and Michonne had gone back and forth about whom would be more likely to survive and if so, what they would have to do.

Rick was adamant he would put his life on the line. Holding her as he spoke gently about the things he envisioned would occur if he wasn't there.  
'You're a mum, Michonne.' He stroked her cheek, a slight chuckle in his voice. 'Everyone needs a mum.'  
She had hit his arm then, 'And you're a father, everyone needs a father.'  
'Michonne, you know what I mean.'  
'I don't Rick.' She looked him in the eyes, saw the haze behind them that he tried to hide with the light tone he forced on the conversation. Both of them were afraid. 'It sounds like… you're giving up. And if not giving up, that you're certain it will be you. How about… how about it be neither of us? Can't you see that? Us? Together? A new world?'  
Michonne had become flustered then. The feeling of a cough caught in the throat of someone in a hushed room became apparent to Michonne, causing her to look away and blink back the sting of tears.

 _It was all hypothetical_ , she had thought in the moment, _so why are you getting so worked up?_  
This was Rick. This was what he did to her. Hypothetical scenarios had never phased Michonne before this. She had always found a way to overcome whatever scenario was placed before her, but this… the idea of Rick not being pressed against her at night, holding her hand and smiling like the last star that made it to the dawn just in time to see the sun… it hurt.

It scratched at her heart and made her lungs fill with blood, so much so that she tasted metal every time she inhaled. The thought made her dumb, made the neural pathways in her brain mismatch. Made her drop pans while cooking and forget how to hold her katana, made her blows weaker, made her slow. Her muscles twitched with less urgency, the corner of her lips quivered throughout the day, the impending sense of tears usually not far behind.

Rick had paused for a minute after he emotional fuelled outburst and laid a hand on her shoulder, not looking at her directly. 'Either way, I will always be with you.'  
Michonne had let it end there, too tired to fight to speak through the feeling that clamped her throat shut.

Carl had noticed. Had taken her to a corner and asked her if she was alright, acting all grown and whatnot. It made her smile. He was so much like his father, so kind, so caring, so sensitive despite so many things. She usually ended up hugging for a long amount of time whenever he did this. Hoping that the tight hold she gave him would give him courage to carry on and handle things better than she was handling it… but then, that was too much responsibility and by hoping that she felt guilty in some way.

Michonne wanted to feel something. Anything. That gave her some sort of… knowledge as to where he was. She thought she had about two nights ago, felt a tang when there was nothing but the silent night engulfing her.  
She sniggered, mocking herself in her mind. _You make it sound like a soulmate thing, have we gotten there now?_  
A distant memory of her and Mike arguing over the concept fogged into her mind. Mike had argued that they were soulmates, but Michonne had shook her head adamantly every time he said it. His definition included the amount of time people spent together and though Michonne could never explain why she didn't agree with that back then, she could argue her point now.

Yes, time was important but Mike forgot the other things. The small things. Like the slight electricity that buzzed in the air before you even entered the same room. Of the same hot flush that happened every time you kissed, despite it being the simplest peck you could ever imagine. The urge to be with them and kiss their fingertips whenever they had a hard day.  
The slight hum you felt when you heard their moans as a result of the way you moved or responded to them or said their name in the right way.  
It was the taste of them becoming your favourite dish, their voice becoming your favourite note, their name becoming your favourite lyrical piece.

She blushed them, thinking about the way she hadn't been able to say his name in a week. In fact, she hoped she would be able to say his name again… soon.

Michonne sighed, _I can't just lay here forever, Judith will be up soon._

Soon enough she was in the shower, the hot water making her remember all the times his body had given her heat in the cold nights. Like on the first night without the mattress, or on the days cold water would spurt from this shower and she would squeal for him to join her… for them to face the small challenge together.

Life without him would be bleak. She would waste away. Yes, she was more, she was strong, she would try for Judith and Carl, to see them grow in both their names but… the fight, she knew, would be too much. Devastating. Like the loss of Andre once again.

Michonne didn't want to, in fact, she didn't realise until it was too late but she began to cry. The water distracted her from the fact until she stepped away and her vision blurred all on it's own.  
Silly, yes. She had held it in for so long, behind the bags that had formed over the days and the redness that circled the whites of her eyes.  
She rested against the wall, pressing her fists against it and mumbling curses as the water hit her back.

 _This is not me, this is not me, this is not me._ Over and over again until it felt true, until the harshness in throat subsided to a lulled pain that would allow her to speak again.

Exhausted, she turned the shower off and stepped out, finding her towel in the steamed room and wrapping it around her.  
Her vision blurred again.

She missed him, she missed him.

It made her crave his affection. Crave the last time he had looked at her with hunger, with love, with kindness, with admiration. Those ocean blue eyes like mayhem, that unravelled her, made her be better, made her stand taller than the seconds before they had found her.

Michonne found herself gripping the sides of the sink, not wanting to face her blurred reflection in the fogged mirror.

For a second, she thought that her eyes were playing tricks on her.

But the blob moved in the mirror and her heart jumped.

Slowly, she wiped away at the condensation that clung to the mirror, that had just made her doubt herself.

And there he was.

Battered and bruised, but still his whole self.

Wearing a goofy smile, with weary eyes and dampened hair that hung in ringlets around his forehead. She turned to him, no longer holding the towel around her body, letting it drop as she ran to him and embraced him. Took in the damp musk of him, the dirt, the blood – that she hoped wasn't his, but those of whoever done him wrong.

He pressed his lips to her temple, as her hands found themselves in his hair, allowing the damp curls to dance between her fingers.  
His heartbeat was profound in her ears, I'm alive, I'm alive, I'm alive it told her.  
"The kids…" She mumbled into his chest. He smile, there she was, thinking about them.  
"They're asleep, they don't know I'm here yet. I came straight to you." Rick's index finger found his way to her chin, lifting her face up to see the shimmering of tears that pooled just at the bottom, threatening to spill over and run down her face. "I have missed you."

Rick leaned in gently, taking in the smell of her, brushing their noses together just before meeting her lips with a slight sense of urgency. Michonne responded instantly, pressing herself against him, allowing him to feel the soft of her breasts even more. The times in which their lips parted - finding new positions to kiss and show their love – allowed their breath to escape, mixing in the air, heavy and urgent.

His hands roamed. There were times he thought he wouldn't make it. That the hunger in his stomach and the uncontrolled closing of his eyelids meant that the last thing he would see was the sun in the sky, the dirt of the road, the animal tracks near the trees.  
But he had made it and poured himself into the compound. Going from a walk, to a jog, to a run to the house and finding his way up the stairs to their bedroom, where she wasn't. Where the crumpled sheets and his turned pillow showed him that she had been sleeping with it, alone. His heart panged at the idea of how she must have felt.

 _Never again,_ he vowed, _never alone._

After quickly checking on Judith and Carl. Smiling at the way their faces looked at peace in their sleep, and how their chests rose and fell with air filling them, he found her. In the shower.

Heard the sobbing.

Michonne moaned when his hands roamed over her behind and continued to do so as he grabbed at what he owned. At what she wanted him to have for as long as they could.  
She found his neck and kissed at it. Found her hands unbuttoning his shirt feverishly. Michonne wanted to feel him, feel the soft warmth of his skin against her. Wanted to sweat with him again and have him, whole, within her. Slowly at first, she could imagine it. The gentle rocking of lovers, of them, making the bed post move to a gentle rhythm, a gentle knock on the wall that would become her favourite back ground noise until the next time – where they would be rough, tasting the salt on each other's skin from the previous round, where they would say each other's names like it was the last time they'd be able to.

But she knew in the way that he kissed her and lifted her to sit on the edge of the sink, it would never happen. There would never be a last time.

His large hands found her breasts.

His silence spoke volumes to Michonne.

He was rarely silent.

Her hands wrapped around both of his wrists and she brought his hands to her waist, forced him to look at her. The look in his eyes made the air catch in her throat. The way the tears made him beautiful. As though ashamed, Rick placed his head in the crook of the Michonne's next and she squeezed his hands. The lust disappearing to allow her to consider all of him, properly.

The way his breath was ragged and how he flinched with the slightest movement, the shaking of his shoulders as her collar bone collected his tears in a pool.  
"I love you." It was muffled into her shoulder, but it penetrated her skin, her cells. Found its way into her blood stream and travelled to her heart, where it hummed and made it golden.  
Michonne gently pushed him away, her hands cupping his face and her thumbs wiping away the tears. "Let's lie down, Rick."

There hadn't been time to speak about the ordeal, but she could tell that his bones were tired. That he had been depleted. The quiet grumble of a hungry stomach followed them as Rick leaned against her and they walked to their bedroom.  
Michonne slowly placed him down, wincing as he winced through the pain. She undressed him, kissing the bruises and the cuts that kept him a realm between sharp and dull throbs.

"I cannot be without you." She whispered as he rested his head on a pillow, his hands cupping his ribs as he inhaled.

"You won't ever have to." Rick whispered. His eyelids closing voluntarily for the first time in days.

* * *

P.S. I was about to write smut. Then I wimped out. I'm sorry.

Thanks for reading though! You guys are awesome for supporting my first story :)


End file.
